Astraphobia
by shatteredjewels
Summary: Claire is not Lightning. LR, Post-Game.
1. Chapter 1

**Astraphobia**

Claire wakes up to someone screaming. She jerks up in bed, frantically grabbing at the sheets before she realizes that the voice is her own. She is screaming.

Her voice cuts off with a gurgle and she gasps, one hand grabbing at her throbbing head. She is sweating; her cotton tank top sticky on her skin as she struggles to heave her covers off of her. Her heart is pounding and the walls around her seem to be tilting.

Her phone rings, cutting through her panic attack. She grabs at her nightstand and manages to get the phone open and to her ear, no small feat with how badly her hands are shaking. "Hello?"

"Claire? Are you there? Please tell me you're there!"

"Serah," she chokes out, clutching the phone with both hands and curling into herself, like the stance can offer protection. "It's you."

"Oh, Claire," her sister wails, close to tears. "You're alive! You're alive and I'm alive. I had just had the worst nightmare ever, and I woke up and Snow had the same dream, and then I had to call because it felt so incredibly real. It was terrifying. I was dead! I was dead and you... You..."

"I know," Claire says, beginning to finally catch her breath. She's no less anxious, but remaining calm for Serah is a long ingrained instinct. "I'm betting I had the same dream."

"About me dying, and you being the Savior?"

"That's the one."

Serah falls silent, perhaps still as shell-shocked as Claire is feeling right then. Claire's mind reels. She'd fallen asleep in bed while studying for a midterm. Her textbook is still on the floor where she dropped it before she turned off the light. A jar of hazelnut spread is still on her nightstand; she'd bought it the night before, to dip granola bars in while she studied. She has a midterm in two days and a paper due next week, and another due the week after that.

Yet, despite that sure knowledge of what she did last night, it's like her memory is split in half. Down one path lies last night's events, but down another is what she had done in the dream. Just as vivid as her book and her snack is the memory of fighting for the sake of humanity, of _killing_ a _god_.

"It was just a dream, right?" Serah whispers into the phone.

"It has to be." Claire's voice quivers, a sure sign of how much this is affecting her. "It just has to be."

"Claire... Can you come over?" Serah's voice is small and worried. "It must have just been a dream, but... I can have Snow pick you up if you don't want to drive."

"I'm fine." Claire forces her body to stop shuddering. "I'll be right over."

Snow and Serah live twenty minutes away. Claire keeps the radio on in her car and tries to ignore the phantom memories that are still threatening to overtake her. She grips the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whiten, and ignores the little voice in the back of her head whispering that _Lightning_ would not be afraid. _Lightning _would take this entire situation in stride. _Lightning_ would saunter coolly into her sister's apartment with a game plan in mind, and marching orders to boot.

But Claire is not Lightning.

Snow and Serah look as wrecked as she feels, where they're sitting on their couch. Snow has already pulled out the hard liquor, and Claire takes a glass with an appreciative murmur. They sit there in the dim light of the living room's lamp, all lost in their own thoughts and twisted memories. Claire tries to override the flickering images of _Lightning_, tries to cover them up with everything that has happened in _this _life, in _her _life. She thinks about how she dealt with her parents dying, and how she helped raise Serah, and how she reacted to meeting Snow, and she hates how many parallels there are between the two. _It's not real_ she makes herself think. _It's not real. It's not real. It's not real._

Snow is the first to break the silence. He downs his glass of scotch with an audible gulp and sits back. "Well," he says, balancing the empty glass on his knee. "We don't know if that was real or not. Pretty damn crazy that we all had the same dream. But we can take something from this vision or hallucination or whatever. Now we know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no matter the situation, Claire is always willing to give me a good hard sock to the face."

The comment is just what they need. Serah bursts out laughing and Claire cracks a smile. "And don't you forget it," she tells Snow, relaxing a bit into the couch and nursing her drink, secretly grateful for the release of tension.

They don't talk about it. Serah turns on the television and they watch late night talk shows. Her sister falls asleep on Snow's shoulder, but Claire and Snow both stay up the entire night, watching the screen and trying not to think.

Over the next few weeks, Claire comes to the conclusion that the dream was real. That somehow, she and her family led an alternate life on a different world. That somehow they survived terrible ordeals, and Serah died, but Claire somehow brought everyone back to life. That apparently they've been reborn here, and in doing so, lived an entirely new life, to replace the old one.

She has no concrete proof, but she sees when total strangers recognize her. She feels the spark of recognition as well, and remembers helping someone buy medicine or retrieve a toy or reconcile with a loved one. Invariably, the people she sees turn away. They don't want to deal with the insane situation any more than she does. But the fact remains that they do know her and she knows them.

They know that what happened was real.

Serah is the one to bring up their missing comrades. "Have you thought about trying to find some of them?" she asks her sister as she makes dinner. "If it was real, then they must be out there somewhere. They must remember us too."

Claire sighs from where she's sitting at the table grating cheese. "I don't think so."

"Why not? We were all such good friends."

"Exactly. Were."

Serah tastes the sauce, makes a face, and starts rummaging through the spice cupboard. "You don't think we'd be good friends now?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I care to find out."

Serah adds something to the sauce, tastes it, and smiles. Mission accomplished, she turns her full attention to Claire. "We're still the same people, Claire. We just lived a different life."

Claire doesn't respond. But Serah reads her disagreement in her face and sighs. "Are you sure you don't want to find Hope?" she asks, done with beating around the bush.

Lightning would have torn the world apart to look for Hope. She would have made every sacrifice, fought every battle, done whatever it took to ensure his safety.

But Claire is not Lightning.

"No. I just want to let it be."

Serah considers this, and then nods and turns back to the stove.

A month passes, and then another. The memories of the other world start to fade a little, which is a relief for Claire. Though she still dreams of that other place, she writes them off as just that. Dreams. She has a life to live, and she intends to do so. She loses herself in school and work and resolutely ignores the one thing about the other world that still burns in her memory.

She cannot make herself forget the green of his eyes.

But Claire is stubborn. She's just as stubborn as Lightning, and she will not go back on her decision. He may be out there somewhere, but he doesn't know Claire. He knows Lightning. And she's not going to waste her time on someone attached to a memory.

Seven months after the night she woke up from a different life, she's late for a lecture. Fall has turned to winter and the snow is slushy on the ground. She forgot her gloves when she left her apartment, and her fingers and face are numb when she finally reaches her building. She takes a moment to stamp the snow off her shoes and brush off her shoulders, and then she looks up and freezes.

Someone behind her bumps into her and grunts in annoyance, but her attention is across the atrium. He's standing there, looking just as stunned as her. He's tall, an adult again. His hair is still a silver mess and his eyes are still a vibrant green, the deep rich color that haunts her dreams. Claire swallows and reaches up to grab her backpack's straps; the harsh material against her palms anchors her to reality.

It's him. It's him and he's here and he's real.

His lips are moving but she can't read them. He takes a step forward and she takes a step back.

Lightning wouldn't have stepped back. Lightning would have stepped forward, would have walked up to him with confidence. Lightning would have been elated to see him, though he would have had to search her eyes and the planes of her face to see any hint of that joy. Lightning wouldn't be so terrified she could barely breathe.

But Claire is not Lightning.

She pivots on her heels and takes off, heedless of the other students she's shoving past and their indignant cries. She hears him call out, but he calls the wrong name, and she shakes her head and stumbles through the door. Once she's out of the building, she starts running and doesn't even pause when she hears him shout after her.

Lightning would have stopped.

But Claire is not Lightning.

Claire is _not Lightning_.

She's not, she's not_, _she's_ not._

* * *

**_Notes_**

Had this idea tonight, and just kind of ran with it. I think I'm going to have quite a bit of fun writing for this game.

I hope you enjoyed, and please remember to review! It really does make me smile!

SJ


	2. Chapter 2

**Astraphobia**

Hope opens his eyes.

The room is dark and the only sound is his harsh breathing as he stares straight in front of him. The blackness is a relief and he tries to keep his eyes open, fearful of what images he might see if he closes them. He's tense, coiled like a spring, but he's also frozen. He can't move. Too much is pressing down on him, too many memories, too many years, too many horrors. He tries to slow his breathing.

"Light?" He calls out softly. She won't be there, but he has to ask anyway. "Are you there?"

Anna murmurs in response, turning over on the other side of the bed. He twists to look back at her. His eyes have yet to fully adjust, but he can see her vague outline, her thick hair spread all over the pillows. He reaches out to her to ensure that she's real but lets his hand drop before he can actually touch her. This is too much for one mind to handle.

He slides out of bed, slips out the door, and pads down the hall to the kitchen. He flips on the lights and the warm glow calms him a little, as does the familiar sight of his cluttered kitchen. He opens the cupboard and pulls out the coffee tin, quickly going through the motions to get the machine going. He needs to think. He needs to figure this out. He needs to do something to funnel out the massive amount of information whirling around in his head before he resorts to curling up in a ball on the floor and screaming.

He pulls a couple legal pads from a pile stacked on the shelf in the living room and sits down at the kitchen table. He sets the two pads side by side, clicks his pen, and starts to write.

At the top of one page, he writes Light.

Beneath her name he frantically scribbles everything he can think of. Over a thousand years of memories briefly summarized by bullet points beneath her name. His mother died. He vowed revenge. He was branded l'cie. He met Lightning. He writes on and on, until he gets to his being tortured and his final days with Lightning. It's a relief to get it down. There is no way that he had a dream that vivid. This is too much detail. This all really happened.

On the other pad, he strays away from writing Anna at the top. That would bring forth implications he's not ready to face yet.

It's a study of contrasts. His mother is alive; he talked to her last night when he called to ask how to make potato salad and she teased him for forgetting one of her most basic recipes. There are no l'cie, no gods, no magic in this world. He's an engineering student, not the leader of humanity. He has friends, many friends, but no Snow. No Noel. No Serah.

No Lightning.

The phone rings, startling him, and he ends up with a huge line scratched across the page he's writing on. He knows it will be his mom, but what if it's Light? He can't help feeling that after all this, there must be some way for her to talk to him, some sort of connection in this life. But logically, he knows this isn't true. There's no summary of meeting her on his second set of notes. He sighs.

"Hi Mom," he greets after picking up the phone.

"Oh, Hope," his mom breathes. "Oh Hope, oh Hope, Oh Hope."

"Mom, you don't know how good it is to hear your voice."

"Oh, sweetie, are you okay? Are you safe?"

"I'm fine. A little overwhelmed. What about you? Are you okay? What do you remember? I hope you don't remember—"

"I do. It's a bit blurry, but I do."

"Oh, Mom," he says, covering his eyes with his hand. He can't even imagine. Centuries of memories, but at least he doesn't have to remember his own death.

"It's alright. Your father is here with me and everything is okay. Especially because you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay, Mom. You talked to me last night, remember? Or at least on this world you did."

It's so bewildering. He just lived a life where he went for centuries without his parents' guidance and unconditional love. But he's also lived a life where they were something to rely on, take for granted even.

He's talking to his mother. She's always been there.

But she wasn't.

This is so messed up.

"Hope, your father and I want you to come by the house tomorrow. I know it's probably silly and that you're always so busy, but we would both feel better if we could see you."

"It would make me feel better too. I'll be over as soon as I finishing teaching my class. Will you okay until then?"

"We'll be fine. I love you, Hope. I hope you know how much."

"I know, Mom. I love you too."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Don't hang up, though, your father wants to speak with you. Here."

"Hello, Hope." His father's voice is like a rock, a solid force of stability. "Are you alright?"

"Mostly. Like I told Mom, just a little overwhelmed."

"As are we. Fill me in on what happened to you after you travelled forward."

Hope flips to his first set of notes. He reads most of them quickly to his father, expounding on some points and leaving out others, not wanting to upset him too much with what happened on the Ark. He spends a full twenty minutes on the past thirteen days, detailing Lightning's mission and victory, which resulted in this new world.

His father sighs, a deep sound, once he's done with his explanation. "And now we've been reborn, it seems. It's so very strange, though, that we have memories in this life. I wouldn't have expected such a thing."

"Same here."

"Any thoughts?"

"I don't even know, Dad. How would this even be possible? Was all of it even real? Or was this life real? Did Bhunivelze plan this, create false memories? Were we all completely reborn? But why would we suddenly remember now, though, all at the same time, if that were the case? I don't have enough information to figure it out." He's going to need a third legal pad, one to start listing theories.

"How is Anna taking this?"

"She's still sleeping. I don't even... How can I tell her something like this? She'll think I've had some sort of breakdown and check me into the psych ward."

"I'm sure she'll understand. Nora and I can help explain, if you wish."

"Maybe. I need to think about it."

"Do it later, son. You sound exhausted. We should all get back to sleep."

Hope agrees and tells his father he'll see him tomorrow. He hangs up the phone and rubs his eyes, realizing how tired he is. It's the middle of the night after all.

He clasps his hands and drops his head onto them. Light... It all comes back to her. She was right there. It's just like after they defeated Orphan, when he lost his grip on her and next thing he knew, she was gone. She was _right there_ before this happened. How could she not be here? How could he have lived an entire life and not found her? _Where is she?_

A soft shuffle of footsteps makes him look up. Anna walks into the kitchen, rubbing her face and yawning. She's in sweats and one of his shirts, the clothing far too big on her petite frame. He's always found the sight adorable. She smiles as she comes up to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. "You're up early," she murmurs and Hope forces himself not to stiffen.

"Yeah," he says back, hoping she doesn't detect anything in his voice. "Woke up and just needed to scribble some stuff down."

She hums and drops a kiss along his jaw. "So smart," she whispers, and then she releases him and moves over to the counter. Hope stares down at his notes and wills himself to calm down. He pulls over the second set and flips to where he summarized his history with Anna. They met at a party. She was a graphic design major and he was finishing up his final year of grad school and getting ready to start his doctorate. They bonded over complaining about computers and a mutual love of classical music.

He's been in love with her for years.

He looks up again when Anna sets a mug of the freshly brewed coffee next to him. She musses his hair and drops another kiss on his forehead. "Try not to stay up too late," she says, and leaves him to go back to the bedroom.

He presses the palms of his hands to his eyes, like the pressure will keep his brain from exploding. He's been in love with Anna for years; they've been living together for two. Everyone expects that they'll end up married. She's perfect. She cute, and funny, and smart, and she always sees the good in people. It's what attracted him to her. She always tries to be kind.

But a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers that he's only been in love with Anna for three years. He's been in love with Lightning for well over a thousand.

Which one is more real?

He stares at his notes until his vision starts to blur. The coffee's gone cold. He tucks the legal pads back on the shelf and walks back to the bedroom. The light from the hall spills into the room and illuminates Anna; she's grabbed his pillow and is curled up around it. He should steal it back and get back into bed but the idea makes him sick. It feels like he'd be betraying Light. And he already feels like he's betraying Anna, with his thoughts so focused on another woman.

He doesn't know what to think.

He stumbles back to the living room and passes out on the couch.

When he wakes up in the morning, Anna is already gone. She tucked a blanket around him at some point; he pushes it off, feeling hot and sweaty. He has a headache already. He shakes his head and buries his head in his hands for a moment, and then gets up and walks into the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal and pop a couple pain pills.

He teaches an intro level programming class at the university. It's the only thing he really has to do today, for which he is grateful. Tomorrow it will be back to the grind, but for today, he needs to recover and think. Teaching doesn't take much effort and it's nice to spend a couple hours helping students solve simple problems. He peppers the lab with hints for their upcoming midterm and lets them go.

He checks by the office and says hello to a couple of the other grads, letting them know he has some family business to deal with, and drives straight over to his parents'. Both cars are in the driveway; his dad must have taken a personal day.

They aren't inside the house so he grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and heads out back.

His parents are sitting on the wooden swing that looks over Nora's garden. It's a tight fit, now that's he's grown, but he manages to squeeze in between them. Bartholomew continues rocking the swing once he's settled and they sit in silence. The weather is warm and the buzz of insects and call of birds grant the area a sense of peace. His mother's daisies are blooming in a riot of color. She drops her head on Hope's shoulder as they sway back and forth and his father lays his arm along the back of the swing, partially embracing the two of them. For the first time since he woke up with his head stuffed full of memories, Hope relaxes.

They sit there for a long while, not speaking. The sun is warm but the breeze sweeping through the trees keep them cool enough. It strikes Hope, as the three of them sit together, that in his old life, such a scene had never been possible. His mother hadn't lived long enough to see him and his father reconciled; she'd died before they could all have this moment. And suddenly Hope's grateful. He's so thankful for this chance to start over, to have his mother back. And even if he doesn't understand exactly how it happened and how much of his current life is real, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he has a family again. The rest of it he can fix with time and effort, but this? This is a chance that he's been waiting for. This is what he worked to achieve.

He exchanges a look with his father and knows that they are both thinking the same thing. Bartholomew squeezes his shoulder and they both turn to look at Nora, who has her eyes closed and a content smile on her face. "You should come home more often, Hope," she murmurs. "This is nice."

"I think I can do that," he tells her, and the silence falls again, none of them wanting to break this moment with questions and answers.

But it can't last forever.

"What are you going to do?" his father asks once the sun has made a noticeable dent in its journey across the sky.

"Find them. What else can I really do?"

His mother lifts her head off his shoulder. "Is that necessary? You father tells me that they were very important to you, but are they more important than the friends you have now?"

The answer is easier than it should be. "They are. We went through more than you can imagine together, Mom. You can't just forget that, or replace it."

Nora hums. "Is that all this life is then? A replacement?"

"No," he says softly. "And I'm so grateful that we're getting another chance. But it's just not the same if I don't have them too. I don't know how to explain it."

"What about Anna?" his father asks, and Hope sighs. As usual, Bartholomew can see right through him to the heart of the problem. And as usual, refuses to let him avoid facing it.

"I don't know what to do," he says. "It's not like my feelings have changed, but they're just being swallowed up by everything else in my head. I feel so guilty, but..." he trails off.

"You love Lightning more," his father finishes.

They all take that in and his mother chimes in. "I like Anna," she tells him. "I really do, and I think she's good for you, but you have to do what's best for you. And what's best for her. It's not fair to stay with her if you're in love with someone else."

And as usual, Nora is right.

"Are you in love with this Lightning?" she asks. It's so strange that she's never even met Light, doesn't know anything about the woman who kept him alive after her death. It reminds him of how much time has passed.

"It..." This time, the answer is a struggle. "It transcends love, Mom. She's everything. She has been for a very long time."

"He lived his life for her, Nora," his father adds. "Everything I told you he accomplished there, he did for her." He stops staring at the flowers and turns his head to Hope. "If you don't try to find her, you'll regret it. I think you need to try. But whatever you decide, we will support you."

Hope nods. He already knows what he's going to do, as difficult as it will be. But there's a burning, pressing _need_ to find Lightning and he knows that it's not going to go away. Not until he finds her.

When he gets home Anna isn't back yet, so he starts making dinner. He has no idea how to do this, how to explain. He pulls his notes off the bookshelf and flips through them while the pasta boils, but puts them back with a groan. There's no advice in these pages to help him with this.

But there are some things you just do.

Anna unlocks the door just as he's taking the spaghetti sauce off the stove. "I'm back!" she sings out, blowing past him to go back into the bedroom. He hears a thud as she drops her backpack on the floor. He closes his eyes for a second, steeling himself, and turns to grab plates.

"Today was so long," she says when she returns. "Class went by so slow today, and then I spend four hours in the math lab getting ready for my midterm. I hate math. I can't wait for this semester to be over." She leans over the counter to watch Hope spooning up dinner. "That looks good. You want me to cut some bread?"

"Sure," he answers, and she swings around the counter into the kitchen itself. She brushes by him as she reaches for a knife and Hope flinches. It feels so wrong to even be near her, when he knows what's about to happen.

He sets the table and Anna brings over a plate of bread and butter. They sit down and Anna cracks open the window by the kitchen table. "You're quiet today," she says, twirling her pasta around her fork. "Is everything okay?"

He sighs and sets down his own fork. "Anna," he starts, voice quiet. "I need to tell you something."

She hears his serious tone and lowers her own utensil. "Hope?" she asks.

"Something happened to me," he says. "Something that's probably going to make me sound insane, but it really did happen. And not just to me, to my parents as well. And... well, there are some implications."

"Hope?" she asks again, confusion now evident in her voice.

He sighs, stands, and goes into the living room to grab his notes. For some reason, having them as a reference makes it easier for him.

When he sits down again, he tells her the entire story. To her credit, she remains quiet the entire time, but he tries not to look too closely at her face. He's not sure what he'll see. When he's finished with his summary, he falls quiet. She doesn't respond and the silence stretches over minutes as she takes in what he's said. He still doesn't look at her.

"Are..." she finally speaks, voice small. "Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

"Yes." He looks up but she's the one not meeting his eyes now. "My parents had the same experience as well. It has to be real."

She takes a deep breath. "Okay. So what does that mean for you?" Her shoulders are tense and he sees her shake her head quickly, like she doesn't really want to hear his answer.

But here it comes. "Anna," he says softly. "This... revelation, it changes everything for me. I'm still the same person, I think, but I've lived an entire life with experiences that also shaped me, and... For some reason, I think I identify more with who I was there than who I am here. I need to find my friends from there."

"Okay, so you need some time to adjust, that's perfectly understandable—"

"I need to find Lightning, Anna." he tries to keep his voice even, but he can't help but see her shoulders hunch at that phrase. "More than anything, I need to find her again."

She looks up now, her lips pressed in a firm line and her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean, Hope?"

"It means what it sounds like. I need to find Lightning."

"And what happens after you find her?"

He exhales, one hand sneaking up to rub his forehead. "Anna," he starts.

She reads between the lines. "You mean to tell me," her voice is dangerously low, "that you want to break up with me for someone you have never met. Someone you're not even sure is real."

"You don't understand."

"No, Hope, I don't. I can't believe this. This is ridiculous."

"It's not like I want to do this, Anna!" His hand falls from his head to slap the table. "I didn't ask for things to be like this! But I can't help what's going on in my head."

"You are insane," she says, scowling. "You have completely lost it."

He sighs. "Really?" he asks her. "Am I really crazy? I told you, my parents had the same experience. And somewhere out there, there are people who woke up the same way I did, with centuries of memories invading their heads."

"I don't believe it," she says, shaking her head. "I don't."

"Well, whether you believe it or not, it doesn't change anything. I do. I believe it, and I'm going to act on it. That's just how it is."

"How could you do this to me?" her hands dig into her hair. "After everything we've been through together, how could you? For something that's not even real. I don't understand why you're—"

"No, Anna, you don't understand!" His voice is loud and harsh, his patience spent. "I lived a life where my mother died, where I was hunted down like an animal all because of circumstances beyond my control. And when we finally got through that hell, when it seemed like things would get better, the person that meant the world to me was stolen away. I spent _centuries_ trying to get her back, and when it seemed like I finally succeeded, the entire world went to hell!" The stricken look on her face hurts him, but now that he's started, he can't stop. "And still, I pressed on, hoping and praying that _something_ would finally go right, even though it was clear the world was ending, only to be kidnapped and tortured for over a hundred years. And then now, now that we finally _won_, now that we finally have a chance to start over, they're all gone! All of them!

You have no idea, Anna. You have no idea what I went through. You don't understand because you can't understand."

Her face is pale, her eyes wide, and she's making little choking whimpers. The tears start to leak from her eyes. Guilt washes over him like a wave, dissolving his anger. "I'm sorry," he says, voice quiet now, folding his arms in his lap. He shouldn't have lost control like that. He can't blame her for her disbelief. "You didn't deserve that."

She chokes back another cry. "What _happened_?" she asked, voice warbling. He knows her well enough to know that what she's really asking. What happened to his feelings for her? Why aren't they strong enough to survive this?

"I don't know, Anna." He takes the coward's road and looks at his hands instead of her face. "I don't know."

Her stool tumbles to the floor with a loud thud when she stands up, but she leaves it. She's sobbing now, and Hope closes his eyes and curses himself. Her footsteps echo through the apartment and the slam of the door rattles the pictures on the wall.

He stays at the table, the food untouched. He feels like the lowest man on earth. Even though he knows that in the end, this will be the right thing for both of them, it doesn't change to fact that he has hurt one of his closest friends. He has broken her heart, destroyed what she wanted so he can chase his own dreams.

The apartment feels empty without her, with nothing but his memories to keep him company.

A couple of Anna's girlfriends come over to gather up her stuff. They glare at Hope and don't bother to hide their whispering about him. He doesn't defend himself. He is probably crazy. He is a jerk for doing this. But he has to.

It's supposed to be easy to find them, but it's not. All he has are their names. No addresses, no dates of birth, nothing. He doesn't even know what continent they could be on. Still, he looks everywhere. He pours over registries and websites, checks as many records as he can get his hands on, but despite his searching, he turns up nothing.

He thinks of hiring someone to help him, a private investigator maybe, but he just can't bring himself to go that far. He doesn't want to answer questions about why he wants to find someone, why he needs to find someone, despite only knowing her name. Lightning will be searching for him as well; he knows this. They will find each other. It's just taking time.

He starts to dream at night. Sometimes he dreams of Light, of the times they've had together, but most of the time, he dreams of something else. Of darkness, of pain, of chains of light. He sees Bhunivelze's eyes, such a close reflection to his own, and hears the god's voice, a distorted version of his own, and he wakes up with his throat raw from screaming. He should probably see a therapist for help, a very discreet one, but he tells himself that if he can find Light, the dreams will stop.

The months pass. And there's nothing. He recognizes people sometimes, people from that other life, but it's never the person he wants to see. The memories start to fade. It should be a relief, as centuries start to bleed away, but Hope clings to what he can remember. He cannot forget her. He just cannot. He can't forget the life that she was a part of, not when this life doesn't have her in it.

However, school keeps him busy, helps occupy his mind. This is especially true during spring semester, when he and a few of the other doctorates prepare to travel to an international computer engineering conference in France. The group was awarded a grant for the venture, and as a result they will be presenting a panel at the conference. It's a huge opportunity for all of them, and Hope is determined not to blow it.

The weather is beautiful when they fly out, cold but sunny, but when they land in France, everything is dismal. It's snowing, but it's not a pretty snow. Everything is wet and miserable. The conference takes place on one of the campuses of the Université Lille, and the gray cast makes even the grand architecture of the university's buildings look bleak.

Their tour of the campus is brief due to the rain, which leaves them with an abundance of free time to stand around and socialize before they can enter the auditorium for the first set of speakers. Hope stands with his colleagues, idly watching students as they pour in and out of the building in a mad scramble to get to class.

When he sees her, her presence takes a few moments to actually register. She's so often in his mind that he blinks a few times to ensure he's not daydreaming. She pushes her hood off her face, revealing her soft rose-colored hair. She hasn't seen him; she's focused on brushing the snow off her body.

She looks up, and somehow his gaze is magnetic enough to draw her eyes to his own. Even from across the room, he can see the heavenly blue that he remembers so well. His heart is about to burst out of his chest and he steps forward.

This. This is what he's been waiting for. It's finally here.

He's so focused on getting to her that he barely sees the change in expression on her face before she whirls around and darts out the door. He calls her name instinctively, panicked by her sudden escape, and manages to get through the influx of students and out of the building.

It's still snowing outside, and crowded with students trying to get out of the cold, but Hope picks out Lightning's dark blue coat and takes after her. He's taller than her and unencumbered by a backpack full of books, so it shouldn't be too hard to catch up, but she's _fast. _He should expect this; she's Lightning after all, but it still takes him off guard. She's not holding back.

He continues to call her, desperate now as she pulls ahead, but she doesn't stop. If anything, she gets even faster. She leads him up a punishing set of stairs and by the time he gets to the top of the fourth flight, she's gone.

He swears before curling over with his hands on his knees as he pants. He ignores the stares he's getting from the people using the staircase and tries to calm down, both physically and mentally. Why did she run away from him? What the hell is going on?

When he finally catches his breath, he feels sick. Not just because of the unexpected fatigue from his sprint, but because of worry. Something is seriously wrong here. And he's not sure what steps to take next.

He has to ask for directions to get back to the building. Inside the atrium, Dallen, one of the other students from his university, is waiting with raised eyebrows. "What the hell was that about?" he asks, blunt as always.

Hope sighs. "Just saw the girl I've been in love with since I was fourteen. And she ran off."

"You catch her?"

"Obviously not."

"That sucks. Wait a sec. In love with? Was she the reason you broke it off with Anna?"

"Sort of. It's kind of complicated."

Dallen nods, cocking his head, as he always did when considering a difficult problem. "I take it this was a chance meeting?"

"I didn't even know she went to this school."

"Well, then this is just fate. And who are we to stand in the way of that? Emilie!" he calls out to one of the women in their group. "You work here, right?"

The redhead in question nods and walks closer. "What about it?"

"Hope just saw the girl of his dreams. Mind us using your faculty directory to look her up?"

Emilie crosses her arms and stares Dallen down. "You want to use _my _faculty directory to stalk girls? Seriously?"

"Yep."

"You do realize that is completely unethical and a gross misuse of my resources, right?"

"In the name of true love, though!"

The woman rolls her eyes at him and then shrugs. "Alright." She pulls out her smartphone and started pressing buttons. "What's her name?" she asks Hope. "I'm assuming you do at least know her."

Hope scratches his head. "Yeah, it's just been awhile. We lost contact. Her name's Lightning Farron."

Emilie clicks something and scrunches her face up in confusion. "You sure? She's not in here."

The question throws Hope for a second, and then it clicks. Not Lightning, not anymore. Not here. "Claire," he says. "Claire Farron. That's her real name."

Emilie shoots him a look, likely questioning if he's telling the truth, but then her face lights up. "There she is!" she exclaims, flipping the phone so Hope can see. Dallen crowds in as well and whistles when he sees the bio. "Damn, Hope," he said. "I can see why you're hung up on her. She's gorgeous."

She is. She's smiling in her picture, which startles Hope a little bit. He's familiar with Light's smile, but it's always been a rare treat to see. She's never struck him as someone that would want to smile for something as routine as a student photo. Dallen is right, though. She's beautiful.

"So," Emilie drawls, rocking the phone back and forth as though taunting him. "Do you want her number? If she asks where you got it, it was not from me. I will deny it until the day I die."

Hope considers it, fully aware of the leer Dallen's sending in his direction. As amazing as it would be to call her, to finally connect after so long, the fact that she ran away from him is still weighing him down. He doesn't understand why she ran. It seems so out of character, and it's shaken him up more than he wants to admit.

In the split second before she turned, she'd looked so... frightened.

"Actually," he says, thinking quickly. "I don't think getting her number is best." He looks at Emilie. "Do you think you could look up one more name for me? I want to see if I can get in touch with her sister."

Emilie shrugs. "Why not? What's her name?"

"Serah."

A few more clicks on the phone, and Serah is smiling at Hope from the screen. Hope adds her number to his contacts and thanks Emilie for her help.

"No problem," she says, clicking her phone off. "Makes me feel like I'm in high school again. And they've finally opened the lecture hall. Let's go."

Sure enough, the auditorium is open. Hope follows the other two into the hall.

He forces himself to focus on the speakers and presentations, but it's hard. He wants to excuse himself and go call Serah, but work needs to come first. He's always been good at compartmentalizing and he calls on those skills now. He needs to survive the first day of this conference and then he can take all the time he needs to figure this out.

Emilie tags along with them on the shuttle back the hotel, and Hope has to endure her and Dallen's teasing. He ignores it, and them when they ask him to grab dinner. He waves them off and grabs a sandwich from the boulangerie across the street from the hotel. He eats in his room, staring at his phone the entire time. He wants to believe that this is the best course of action and that this will go smoothly, but he still thinks about Lightning's back as she fled from him this afternoon. What if Serah does something similar and hangs up on him once she hears his voice? What is going on?

After he eats, he grabs his phone and walks over to the window, the sight of the city lights calming him. It's just Serah. She'll know what's going on with Lightning; she'll help him know what to do.

He clicks the call button and holds the phone up to his ear, holding his breath. The voice that says hello makes him smile though, the tension rolling off his shoulders like raindrops. It's not Serah, but it's someone he knows very, very well. It's a relief, honestly, because the fact that this man is picking up Serah's phone means that some things are still right in the world.

"Snow," he greets. "It's Hope."

* * *

**Notes**

When I started this, I wasn't planning on continuing it, but I guess my mind wasn't content with leaving our favorite couple hanging. So, let's have some fun with this?

Hope you enjoyed, and please remember to review! It really does help me stay motivated!

SJ


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